The Stove's on Fire, Again
by dauntlessmockingjay24601
Summary: Arthur Kirkland was infamous in the New York City Fire Department for burning down his stove whenever he tried making scones. But somehow, Alfred doesn't mind answering the call.


Alfred's department didn't even bother bringing in a truck whenever Arthur Kirkland called. They just sent him. At first it bothered him. The dude just never learned! But as time passed and scones burned, Alfred grew more and more attracted to Arthur. The way his enormously large eyebrows actually complimented his beautiful green eyes. How when Alfred put out the fire, he would always make some tea in apology. (Somehow only the oven was affected.) His accent. How he would act like a gentleman, but immediately start cursing at his French roommate, no matter the time of day. Arthur Kirkland was stunning. He even started looking forward to when he would be called down to put out a stove fire at Arthur's apartment.

Today was no different. Alfred's chief, a strict German man by the name of Ludwig, called him down. "Kirkland's place. Go now," he said, while rubbing his head in annoyance. The rest of Alred's department didn't have a deep settled affection for the Englishman.

Alfred saluted him, and made way to putting on his equipment. Even if it was a small stove fire, it could grow into something more. And a hero couldn't let that happen!

Some minutes later, Alfred was at Arthur's door, which was already open.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here, Alfred, I was just making scones again and…" Alfred would've loved to continue to hear Arthur's babbling, but he had a fire to tend to. Armed with his trusty fire extinguisher, Alfred pushed passed Arthur to his kitchen, ready to confront the fire.

The mouth of the oven was open, revealing relatively small flames leaping out into the open. No trouble for the hero!

"Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep," Alfred lowly chanted. Not that he forgot how to use the thing, but it always helped to know what you're doing.

It was an easy fire to put out, really. After several of Arthur's stove fires, really, it became common practice. Alfred waved the smoke out of his way, and opened the nearby window. He then pulled the ruined scones out of the oven's maws.

"Shame. I was sure I had it this time." Alfred turned to find a sheepish looking Arthur, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. Alfred noted that the green vest he wore greatly complemented his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll get it another time, Artie!" Alfred assured. But he seriously doubted it.

Arthur sighed, almost as if he didn't believe it either. "Arthur. And we'll see."

Alfred didn't know what to do with the plate of scones, so he dumped them in the sink, much to Arthur's dismay.

"Why don't I make tea," he finally said, sounding defeated.

Alfred grinned and sat down at his now usual chair near the kitchen. Through the visits there, Alfred found that Arthur's apartment wasn't large, but it wasn't the smallest, either. He shared it with a French dude, Francis, who Alfred assumed was a total dick by the amount of time Arthur spent complaining about him.

While Arthur made the tea, Alfred took off most of his equipment and discreetly stared at Arthur's ass. (He didn't mean to, but those pants just curved perfectly in all the right places.) Arthur turned, though, so Alfred snapped his eyes to Arthur's face. "I'm assuming extra cream and sugar?"

"You betcha!" Alfred nervously laughed. Maybe Arthur didn't notice him…

"Stop staring at my arse."

Dammit. "I wasn't staring! Where'd you get that idea?"

Arthur only hummed in return, and Alfred knew he was smirking. That bastard.

Silence then ruled, interrupted by the shrieking of the kettle once the tea was done. Arthur brought the cups over to the table and served them both, finally settling down.

Like any other American, Alfred preferred coffee over tea. But Arthur's teas were actually good. That is, after Alfred dumped several spoonfuls of sugar and a necessary amount of cream on it.

"I can't thank you enough, Alfred," began Arthur once again. It was routine, really, but Alfred liked spending time with Arthur. "I imagine that you've grown tired of coming over here."

"Naw, it's nothin'. A hero never gets tired of helping others!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Anyways, would you like to...no, nevermind."

That piqued Alfred's interest. "What?"

"It's nothing…" Arthur was blushing.

"Come on, Artie, you can tell me. What is it?"

"I don't even know if you're...it was a ridiculous idea, forget I ever said anything." Arthur was looking down, avoiding Alfred's questioning gaze. Didn't know if he was what?

Impulsively, Alfred put his fingers under Arthur's chin and tilted his head so their eyes would meet. "That I'm what?" he almost whispered.

Arthur's blush grew even redder, if it was possible. "It's nothing, really!"

"Arthur…" Alfred began.

"Fine!" Arthur exclaimed, then did something Alfred didn't see coming. In one quick motion, Arthur moved Alfred's fingers from his chin to his cheek and closed the distance between them with a kiss.

At first Alfred didn't respond, too shocked to do anything. Arthur pulled back and began to apologize. No, he shouldn't be apologizing. Alfred moved his hand to the back of Arthur's head and tugged Arthur back to him. Arthur's lips were soft and unyielding. It was perfect.

Arthur pulled back again, but Alfred let him. He kept his fingers tangled into Arthur's hair. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out with me, but I didn't know if you were—"

"Gay?" Alfred finished for him.

Arthur weakly nodded, and Alfred grinned. He kissed Arthur again, briefly tasting the tea left on his lips. "Does this answer both of 'em?"

He felt Arthur smile, and they were kissing again.


End file.
